‘I’ve seen them try to take that step,’ Lever continued. ‘And I’ve seen them flounder, unable to cope with the sheer size of the market. I’ve watched the big Companies move in, like those sharks we were talking of, and gobble up the pieces. Because that’s what it’s really all about, Kim. Not ideas. Not potential. Not get-up-and-go. But money. Money and power.’
He paused and sucked at his cigar. All about him the old men nodded, but their eyes never left Kim’s face.
‘So I was saying to my friends here, let’s make things happen a little differently this time. Use some of our money, our power to help this young man. Because it’s a shame to see potential go to waste. A damn shame, if you ask me.’
He leaned back, drawing on the cigar, then puffed out a narrow stream of smoke. Kim waited, silent, not knowing what to say. He wanted nothing from these men. Neither money, nor power. But that was not the point. It was what they wanted from him that mattered here.
‘CosTech has offered for your contract. Right?’
Kim opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Of course Lever would know. He had spies, hadn’t he? They all had spies. It was how things worked at this level. You weren’t in business unless you knew what the competition was up to.
‘Yes. But I haven’t decided yet,’ he lied, wanting to hear what they were going to offer. ‘I’m meeting them again in two weeks to talk terms.’
Lever smiled, but it was a smile tinged with sourness. ‘Working for the competition, eh?’ He laughed. ‘Rather you than me, boy.’
There was laughter from the gathered circle. Only by the window was there silence.
‘But why’s this, Kim? Why would you want to waste a year of your life slaving for CosTech when you could be pushing Chih Chu on to bigger things?’
Make your offer, Kim thought. Spell it out. What you want. What you’re offering. Make a deal, old man. Or would that embarrass you, being so direct?
‘You know what they’ve offered?’ he asked.
Lever nodded. ‘It’s peanuts. An insult to your talent. And it ties you. Limits what you could do.’
Ah, thought Kim, that’s more to the point. Working for CosTech, he could not work for ImmVac. And they needed him. The old men needed him, because, after a certain age, it was not possible to stop the ageing process. Not as things stood. They had to catch it before the molecular signal that triggered it. Afterwards was no good. What ImmVac had developed was no good for any of these men. The complex system of cell replication began to break down, slowly at first, but exponentially, until the genetic damage was irreparable. And then senility.
And what good was money or power against senility and death?
‘I’m a physicist,’ he said, looking at the old man directly. ‘What good am I to you? You want a biochemist. Someone working in the field of defective protein manufacture. In cell repair. Not an engineer.’
Lever shook his head. ‘You’re good. People say you’re the best. And you’re young. You could learn. Specialize in self-repair mechanisms.’ He stared at Kim fiercely. The cigar in his hand had gone out. ‘We’ll pay what you ask. Provide whatever you need.’
Kim rubbed at his eyes. The cigar smoke had made them sore. He wanted to say no and have an end to it, but knew these were not men he could readily say no to.
‘Two weeks, Shih Lever. Give me two weeks, then I’ll let you know.’
Lever narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the young, childlike man. ‘Two weeks?’
‘Yes. After all, you’re asking me to change the direction of my life. And that’s something I have to think about. I’ve got to consider what it means. What I might lose and what gain. I can’t see it right now. Which is why I need to think it through.’
But he had thought it through already and dismissed it. He knew what he wanted; had known from the first moment he had glimpsed the vision of the web. Death – what was death beside that vision?
Lever looked to the other men in the room, then nodded his agreement. ‘All right, Shih Ward. Two weeks it is.’
It was late. The crowd in the ballroom had thinned out, but the dancing went on. On the balcony overlooking the hall, a ten-man orchestra played a slow waltz, their bows rising and falling in the fragmented light. Kim stood at the back of the hall, beside Michael Lever, watching the couples move about the floor, realizing that this too was an illusion; a dream of agelessness. As if time could be restored, its flow reversed.
‘I love their dresses,’ he said, looking up at the tall young man. ‘They’re like jellyfish.’
Lever roared, then turned to his friends and repeated Kim’s comment. In a moment their laughter joined his own. Lever turned back to Kim, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘That’s rich, Kim. Marvellous! Like jellyfish!’ And again he burst into laughter.
Kim looked at him, surprised. What had he said? It was true, wasn’t it? The bobbing movements of their many-layered dresses were like those of jellyfish in the ocean, even down to the frilled edges.
‘I was only saying…’ he began, but he never finished the sentence. At that moment the main lights came up. The orchestra played on for a moment or two, then ended in sudden disarray. The dancers stopped circling and stood there, looking towards the doorway at the far end of the ballroom. Suddenly it felt much colder in the hall. There was the sound of shouting from outside.
‘What in hell’s name?’ Lever said, starting to make his way towards the doors. Then he stopped abruptly. Soldiers had come out on to the balcony above the dance floor. More came into the ballroom through the doorway. Security troops in powder-blue fatigues, black-helmeted, their visors down.
Kim felt his mouth go dry. Something was wrong.
The soldiers formed a line along the edge of the balcony and along the lower walls, covering the dancers with their weapons. Only a few of their number went among the dancers, their visors up, looking from face to face. Up above, on the balcony, a lieutenant began to read out a warrant for the arrest of fifteen men.
In the ballroom there was disbelief and anger. One young man jostled a Security guard and was brought down by a sharp blow with a rifle butt. When the soldiers went from the hall they took more than a dozen young men, Lever and his friends amongst them.
Kim, watching, saw the anger in surrounding faces after the soldiers had gone. More anger than he’d ever seen. And different, very different from the anger of the Clay. This anger smouldered like red-hot ashes fanned by a breath. It was a deep-rooted, enduring anger.
Beside Kim a young man’s face was distorted, black with rage. ‘He’ll pay! The bastard will pay for this!’ Others gathered about him, shouting, their fists clenched, the dance forgotten.
Kim stood there a moment longer, then turned away, going quickly from the hall. Things had changed. Suddenly, dramatically, the rules had changed, and he was no longer safe here. He passed through, glancing from side to side, seeing only outrage on the faces of those he passed. Outside he walked past the waiting sedans and on, out across the darkness towards the transit.
In a sober moment they would remember. Old Man Lever would remember. And in his anger, who knew how he would act? It was a time for taking sides, and he was Li Yuan’s man.
He saw soldiers up ahead, guarding the transit entrance, and began to run, knowing his safety lay with them. But nearer the barrier he turned and looked back at the house, remembering the dresses bobbing to the music, the swish of lace in the air. And a circle of old men, offering him the earth.
Chapter 69
IN THE OPEN
Tolonen stood there at Haavikko’s bedside, looking down at him, a faint smile on his lips. It was only two days since his own operation and he was still feeling weak, but he had had to come.
A nurse brought him a chair and he sat, content to wait until the young man woke. His new arm ached at the shoulder, despite the drugs, but it was feeling better than it had.
Besides, he was alive. Thanks to Haavikko.
The nurse hovered
but he waved her away, then settled to watch the sleeping man.
All his life he had been self-reliant. All his life he had fought his own fights, keeping himself one step ahead of his enemies. But now he was growing old. At last he had proof of it. His old eyes had missed the discrepancy of the colour codings on the soldiers’ chests – his reactions had been just that fraction of a second too slow – and he had lost his arm as a result. Almost his life.
He smiled, studying the young man. Haavikko was cradled in bandages, special healants creating new skin growth on his badly burned shoulder and back.
Tolonen shook his head as if to clear it, feeling both sad and happy at once. He had been told what Haavikko had done for him, like a son for a father; risking himself when all bonds of duty or obligation had long ago been severed between them.
Yes, he had sorely misjudged the boy.
Haavikko stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Marshal…’ He made to sit up, then winced and eased back, closing his eyes again. The blast had removed most of the skin at the top of his back and taken off his ear.
‘Lie still, boy. Please. You need your rest.’
Haavikko opened his eyes again and looked up at the Marshal. ‘Your arm…’ he said, clearly pained by the sight.
Tolonen laughed gruffly. ‘You like it? It hurts a bit just now, but that doesn’t matter. I’m alive, that’s the thing.’ He sat back, his right hand reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his left cheek; an awkward, embarrassed gesture, indicative of just how hard the old man found it to deal with this. The warmth he felt towards the other man – that depth of reawakened feeling – brought him close to tears. He looked away a moment, controlling himself, then finished what he had meant to say. ‘Thanks to you, Axel. Thanks to you.’
Axel smiled. His hands lay above the sheets. Long, fine hands, undamaged in the incident. Tolonen took one and squeezed it.
‘I misjudged you, boy. I…’
Haavikko shook his head, a slight grimace of pain crossing his face. ‘It doesn’t matter. Really, sir. I…’ He turned his head slightly, looking across the room to where his clothes hung on a peg. ‘But there’s something you must know. Something important.’
Tolonen smiled. ‘Rest, my boy. There’s plenty of time for other things…’
‘No.’ Haavikko swallowed drily. ‘Over there, in my tunic, there’s a package. I was bringing it to you when it happened. I’d pieced it all together.’
Tolonen shook his head, puzzled. ‘Pieced what together?’
Haavikko looked up, pleading with his eyes. ‘Just look. Please, sir. You don’t have to read it all right now. Later, perhaps, when you feel up to it. But promise me you’ll read it. Please, Marshal.’
Tolonen let go of Haavikko’s hand, then got up heavily and went across. Just as Haavikko had said, there was a small package in the inner pocket of the tunic. He tugged at it until it came free, then went back, taking his seat again.
He held the package out, a query in his eyes. ‘So what is this?’
Haavikko swallowed again and Tolonen, taking the hint, set the package down and picked up the glass by the bedside, giving Haavikko a few sips.
‘Well?’
‘Long ago you asked me to do something for you – to make a list of people who might have been involved in the assassination of Minister Lwo Kang. Do you remember?’
Tolonen laughed. ‘Gods! That must have been eleven years ago. And you did that?’
Haavikko made the smallest movement of his head. ‘That’s how it began. But I extended it. I kept a record of anything I felt wasn’t right – anything that didn’t quite make sense to me. Then, recently, I teamed up with Kao Chen and your man Karr.’
‘Good men,’ Tolonen said, nodding his approval.
‘Yes.’ Haavikko smiled then grew serious again. ‘Anyway, what you have there is the result of our investigations. My original list, my notes and a few other things. Computer files. Hologram images.’
Tolonen lifted the package and turned it in his hand, then set it down on his knee and reached out to take Haavikko’s hand again. ‘And you want me to look at it?’
‘Yes…’
Tolonen considered a moment. He had promised Jelka he would dine with her later on, but maybe he would cancel that. He could always say he was tired. Jelka would understand. He smiled broadly at Haavikko. ‘Of course. It’s the very least I could do.’
Haavikko looked back at him, his eyes moist. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Tolonen sat there, clasping the young man’s hand. The ache in his left shoulder was much stronger now. It was probably time for his medication, but he felt loath to leave the young man.
‘I must go now,’ he said softly. ‘But I promise you I’ll look at your files. Later. When it’s quiet.’
Haavikko smiled, his eyes closed. Slowly his mouth relaxed. In a moment he was asleep.
Tolonen placed the young man’s hand gently back on the sheets then got stiffly to his feet. Twice lucky, he thought, remembering the attack at Nanking spaceport. He made his way across, then turned, looking back, noticing for the first time just how pale Haavikko was. He stood there a moment longer, absently scratching at the dressing at his shoulder, then desisted, annoyed with himself.
He looked down at the silver arm and sighed, remembering how Jelka had fussed when she’d first seen it. But there was steel in her too. She had borne up bravely. So too this young man. Oh, he would make things up. He was determined on it. Would find a way of making things right again.
Tolonen yawned, then, smiling sadly to himself, turned away, leaving the young officer to sleep.
Tsu Ma lifted the dish and brushed his thumb across its silken, contoured surface. It was a perfect piece: black lacquer carved with two waterfowl against a background of lotus. Fourteenth century, from the last years of the Yuan dynasty. He smiled to himself, then turned to face Li Yuan.
‘Two years they would labour to make one of these. Two years of a master craftsman’s life. And at the end, this. This small fragment of dark perfection.’
Li Yuan looked across at him, turning from the view of the bay and the sugarloaf mountain beyond. He had not been listening, but he saw the lacquered dish in Tsu Ma’s hands and nodded. ‘That piece is beautiful. Hou Ti had many fine things.’
Tsu Ma held his eyes a moment. ‘These days some think of them as primitive, ignorant men. Barbarians. But look at this. Is this barbarian?’ He shook his head slowly, his eyes returning to the dish. ‘As if the mere passage of years could make our species more sophisticated.’
Li Yuan laughed and came closer. ‘Your point, Tsu Ma?’
Behind them, at the far side of the long room, the rest of the Seven were gathered, talking among themselves.
Tsu Ma set the dish down, letting his fingers rest in its shallow bowl, then looked up at Li Yuan again. ‘Just that there are those here who think the future better than the past simply because it is the future. Who believe that change is good simply because it is change. They have no time for comparisons. Or for the kind of values expressed in the simplicity of this dish. No time for craft, control or discipline.’ He lowered his voice a fraction. ‘And I find that disturbing, Li Yuan. Dangerous, even.’
Li Yuan studied him a moment, then gave the barest nod of agreement. They had covered much ground that morning, but nothing yet of true significance. On the matters of the stewardships and the new immortality drugs he had bowed like the reed before the wind, not pushing his own viewpoint, merely ensuring that these matters were not finalized. Let them play their games of evading death, he thought; death would find them anyway, wherever they hid. As for the other, there was time enough to force his view on that.
‘How deep is this feeling?’
Tsu Ma considered a moment, then leaned towards Li Yuan. ‘Deep, cousin. Deep enough to trouble me.’ He looked past the younger man, out beyond the window glass, seeing how the space between the bowl of hills was plugged with
the white of the City’s walls. ‘They would do away with certain restraints.’ He stretched his long neck, lifting his chin, then looked directly at Li Yuan. ‘You’ll see. This afternoon…’
The early afternoon sunlight fell across Li Yuan’s arm and shoulder. ‘It is the illness of our time. Change and the desire for change. But I had not thought…’ Yuan smiled and broke off, seeing Chi Hsing, the T’ang of the Australias, approach.
The two men nodded, acknowledging the newcomer.
‘Are you not eating, cousins?’ Chi Hsing smiled and turned, summoning the waiters, then turned back. ‘Before we resume, there is a matter I must raise with you. A change has been proposed to the scheduled itinerary.’
‘A change?’ Li Yuan said, raising his eyebrows slightly, but heavily emphasizing the word. Beside him Tsu Ma kept his amusement to himself, staring back mask-like at his fellow T’ang.
Chi Hsing was known for neither his intelligence nor his subtlety. In that regard he was much more his mother’s child than his father’s. He was a father now himself, of course. Two young sons, the eldest barely two, had blessed his first marriage, changing him considerably. He was less rash now than he’d been, and though he had secretly applauded Li Yuan’s purge of the Ping Tiao, he also had misgivings about such actions. He feared for his sons, remembering what had happened in the War with the Dispersionists. Vengeance was fine, but now he wished only for peace.
Peace. So that he might see his sons grow to be men. Strong, fine men, as his father had been.
‘Wang Sau-leyan has made a request,’ he began, his eyes searching both their faces. ‘And there are others here who wish to speak on the matter.’ His eyes grew still, focused on Li Yuan.
‘Go on, cousin.’
Chi Hsing bowed his head slightly. ‘He wishes to discuss the arrests. The action you took in league with Wu Shih against the young sons.’
It was clear, by the way Chi Hsing stood there, that he expected Li Yuan to refuse. Indeed, it was within Li Yuan’s rights to refuse Wang’s request, as his father had done once before. But Li Yuan only smiled politely.
The White Mountain Page 6